The Captain's Surrender
by 2Tame a River
Summary: Take a glimpse behind the chrome polished mask of the mysterious Captain Phasma and discover the shocking truth about the significant role she played in the destruction of Starkiller Base. You won't see this one coming...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This short multi-chapter story is based off of a theory that entered into my head the last time I watched SW The Force Awakens. It has taken such a deep root in me, that regardless of whether or not my idea ends up being cannon- I had to write it to get it out of my system! Enjoy.

P.S. I couldn't find the exact quotes I was looking for on the Internet so what I have down there is based on what I remember from the last time I watched the movie. If I got it wrong, please don't hurt me. If you did, there'd be no more story.

:P Thanks

* * *

 **The Captain's Surrender**

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Chapter 1: His First Offense

...

The blaster was clean, well maintained, and without a single defect to speak of. The inspection officers had been _quite_ thorough. Captain Phasma had been certain of that. And the result of their weapon inspection left little to chance... Phasma almost shuddered to think that there was, for the first time, even the slightest possibility of a nonconforming soldier within the First Order's ranks. Such a concept was practically blasphemy to the representation of all the First Order stood for. If Captain Phasma's suspicions about a certain storm trooper were in fact true, then General Hux would _not_ be pleased.

The soldier in question of causing such an upheaval, approached his Captain's quarters in standard military fashion, his boots squeaking to a sudden halt upon arriving at the door. Though his face was masked by his helmet, his feelings of uncertainty were betrayed in the brief moment in which he hesitated at the threshold even after he was admitted entrance. Captain Phasma's managing department was as cold and steril as her signature silver armor and strict demeanor; a truly intimidating place. She couldn't blame the soldier for being somewhat cautious, but he was trained to follow orders- and under much worse circumstances. Failure to do so was the very reason that he was here.

"FN-2187,"

Phasma's already stoic voice sounded nearly artificial as it filtered through her helmet's speakers. The fact that she remained standing, opting not to seat herself in the chair behind her desk, merely testified to the seriousness of the matter she was addressing.

"Captain," FN-2187 responded with as much professionalism as he could muster.

It was a valiant effort on the trooper's part to appear undaunted by whatever punishment awaited him, but it was a facade Captain Phasma saw clear through.

"At approximately 0800 of the last orbital cycle, you were given direct orders to terminate Jakkuan villagers on my mark. You failed to execute this directive. After turning your blaster in for inspection, the results of the examination revealed that this was not an error caused by equipment malfunction."

The weight of the Captain's words hung in the air like a dark storm cloud, which at any moment was capable of unleashing terrible doom.

"I trust you can provide me with an adequate explanation for such blatant insubordination," Captain Phasma asserted. FN-2187 remained wisely silent for a lengthy period of deliberation. Then, at last he spoke.

"I don't know what happened. I just... I locked up. I froze. I couldn't move. I don't like owning up to the fact but there it is. I just couldn't shoot."

Captain Phasma considered FN-2187's reply, her mind racing over the multiple contingencies for such an occurrence and its most probable causes. FN-2187 and his unit had been trained for all manners of modern warfare, having mastered 32 forms of combat and having been made to memorize every one of the 87 commands the First Order had instated, each with code names. Storm Troopers of FN-2187's caliber were monitored by the best care clinics, trained in the highest technilogical of simulated battle practice zones, handled by the most experienced of teachers, and exposed to 221 different environments. The amount of tactical thought and dedicated efforts put into the First Order's military program was unparalleled to anything in the galaxy.

Given that this was in fact FN-2187's first official active duty mission, was it even probable, that despite all the advantages this trooper had been afforded in his careful upbringing and education, he could still be prone to something so basic as first mission nerves? Phasma had to factor in this possibility, even if the other members of FN-2187's unit had thus far not shown any signs of similar problems. Once again, the Captain had to remind herself, these soldiers were each different individuals, and despite some genetic modifications here or there, it was expected for each to behave and react differently to new circumstances. It was part of what made them so superior to clones. But it also made them less predictable.

By now the silence in the room was almost defeaning. FN-2187 was starting to fidget. Prepared to give this trooper the benefit of the doubt, Phasma decided on her course of action. Blinking, Phasma summoned a few system commands on her helmet HUD menu.

"I'm issuing orders for you to undergo a standard medical examination. They are expecting you in the med bay now. I will be rejoining you presently," Phasma stated, walking over to her desk to take a seat at last. FN-2187 nodded once, snapped a salute, then about faced to exit the office.

Captain Phasma turned her attention to her desk and took a seat, the holo office top display blinking to life before her.

With a few graceful sweeping guestures of her gloved hands, Phasma found FN-2187's history file and began examining the information logged there.

Ever since she had first been inducted into the First Order ranks, she had made it a priority to keep her own files on each and every soldier she came into contact with, working hard to memorize them. Years after playing the grunt in numerous First Order soldier roles, her potential was discovered and she was promoted to the captain of her own unit. Her habit of memorizing names and faces became even more useful after that. She had many troops under her command and she wasn't about to loose her grasp on who was who when life or death could depend upon it. Phasma was out numbered here after all...

Not just because of the fact that she was a woman either. Women were certainly not as common inside the First Order ranks and therefore made her ascent to such a lofty position all the more impressive. But this wasn't why she had to be so careful. Phasma had to be careful because she was in the most crucial of roles any solder could get his or herself into:

She was a spy.

A spy for the Resistance.

Her last official report was over a year ago. But it had to be that way. No one could suspect. She was in this for the long run, to slowly bring the First Order down from the inside, and risking a meeting with Resistance fighters was all too dangerous. As result, large gaps would pass where she doubted the Resistance was aware she was even still alive. In fact, sometimes she forgot she was one of them herself. It was all too easy to do after making the First Order her entire life.

She was even beginning to grow numb to the magnitude of innocent civilian deaths she witnessed weekly. This fact used to keep her up at night, but it didn't anymore. The truth was, there was nothing she could do if she refused a direct order to uphold her ethics. The First Order would shoot her on sight, and follow up with murdering the civilians anyway. In Phasma's position, she had so much _more_ to do, and saving a few innocent lives would in no way equal the amount of lives that would be saved once the First Order was brought down once and for all.

All that to say, Captain Phasma recognized FN-2187's hesitation for what it was the moment she'd seen it. His morals were waging war with his years of military training, and he didn't know which side to engage. She could not fault him, she could not send him to **death** for that. For being _human_. It hadn't been his choice to join the First Order. He'd been collected as a child and raised for this cause. He should be allowed this chance to choose what mattered to him, if nothing else.

Gaining her feet, Captain Phasma left her office to enter the med bay where FN-2187's tests were preformed. Nothing of consequence appeared wrong with his health, and so after the examination was completed, Phasma declared that FN-2187 be scheduled for a reconditioning session before allowing him to return to his post.

It was no mistake on her part. She knew she'd made the right decision. And her suspicions were confirmed when she recieved an angry call from General Hux less than 24 hours later. Her presence on the bridge was requested, and she entered the room to find a flustered General Hux and a pacing Kylo Ren. His black, thudding boots seemed to abuse the very ground he walked on.

"The prisoner escaped, and one of ours helped him," General Hux spat in fury. Well, OK. Phasma hadn't necessarily anticipated FN-2187's full on defection via aiding their prisoner to escape. But ok.

Within moments Kylo Ren was able to summon through the force the name and face of the soldier responsible for such treason. This ability of his still scared Phasma sometimes. Force sensitivity went beyond her ability to predict, and that unnerved her. But Captain Phasma masked her true feelings on the matter and simply walked up to the computer consul that Hux currently was opperating.

"FN-2187 submitted his blaster in for inspection, reported to my division and was scheduled for reconditioning," Phasma reported.

"Has this soldier shown any previous signs of nonconformity?" Hux demanded, raiding the computer logs information banks on the trooper, as if Captain Phasma didn't already know it all by heart. As if Phasma would have _failed_ to report so if she'd not discovered such information sooner. Phasma angled her chrome shined helmet to look at her General.

"This was his _first_ offense,"


	2. Chapter 2

_I wrote this chapter as an insight to more of Captain Phasma's mind and attitude towards her job and what she thinks and feels. I found it was important for this to be shared before I progressed to the final chapter of this mini fic. I hope you enjoy :)_

 _-2Tame A River_

* * *

 **The Captain's Surrender**

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Chapter 2: Behind the Chrome Mask

...

Somehow, the rogue trooper known as FN-2187 had managed to escape the First Order yet again.

For all his shortcomings on the battlefield, he certainly was proving to be quite resourceful when desperation forced his hand. Captain Phasma was _almost_ proud. But what was even more real than any pride she might have taken over the defected trooper's impressive accomplishments, was her sense of sorrow for what she knew was coming.

The man hunt had begun.

The BB-8 droid unit who held the map to Luke Skywalker's hidden location was Kylo Ren's top priority at the moment, and the unlucky soldier, FN-2187, had thrown himself right into the middle of it.

There was a girl too now, apparently. A horrible shame.

No matter which fraction of Resistance fighters these two had joined, their days were numbered. Literally, numbered.

Captain Phasma had the launch date right here in front of her as to when the First Order's best kept secret was ready to be utilized. She had only been planetside to see the weapon for herself _once_ \- for it was such a highly classified project.

But she had seen the specs of the entire weapon station. She'd been studying them for years, actually. General Hux had approved her petition to have them, due to the fact that she needed to become fully familiar with the new station's surroundings before her upcoming dispatchement there. She wasn't positive, but she had the feeling General Hux himself would soon make the freshly finished base his official place of operations.

Whatever enjoyment the General pretended to flaunt in having control of the First Order's fleet, Phasma knew for a _fact_ that he did not at all take pleasure in the many confinements of airman life. Being born into exquisite wealth and title, Hux preferred the personal comforts of home over the strictly minimalistic life required of a military man. And while he tollerated the stressful lifestyle of roaming the corners of the galaxy, he did not thrive on it.

That was Kylo Ren's department. The force wielder was ever the nomad, traveling to and fro in his star cruiser, hardly depended upon to be seen in the same place twice. It could have been a character trait which resulted from his restless, tormented spirit, but Phasma had long decided she would not attempt to understand him.

He was a deadly weapon in the hands of Supreme Leader Snoak, and that was enough.

Captain Phasma's current position did not provide her with any liberties, least of which, the risk of getting herself into any trouble. She had played by the book, behaved rigidly professional, and displayed nothing but unwaveringly loyalty to the First Order every day since her first enrollment years and years ago.

And while keeping up these appearances, she simultaneously had been sending private, important information on the First Order to the Resistance every opportunity that arose. And those opportunities did not arise very often. But when they did, Phasma always had a massive data of information that was passed on. No doubt that made the General Liea and her Resistance fighters _very_ happy.

Of course, Captain Phasma didn't know for _sure_. She'd never seen their expressions, much less had a conversation with any of them. It was too dangerous. The most she'd received from the Resistance were code words that indicated they'd received her transmissions...

Yes, it was a complicated, high risk, estranged life that she lived.

Sometimes when she lay in her steril, cold bed at night, she let her mind wonder just why she had committed herself to this occupation. It was brutal, unforgiving, and thankless. Depression spells were frequent, and anxiety attacks even more so. All of which she had to hide. She could give no hint, not even the slightest indication of her silent suffering, else her whole operation would be put in jeopardy.

She would not fail. She _could_ not fail. No matter how much wearing this heartless chrome mask cost her in the end, she would not waver. For her loyalty to the Resistance was strong.

Every day, Phasma was forced to come face to face with the unspeakable evils of the First Order, and the tremendous terror in which this colossal military force used to manipulate and oppress the Galaxy. She hated it with a passion. Perhaps it was this hatred that had fueled her to viciously cut down her competition until she reached the top of the food chain. Maybe her anger for the Order was the cause for her cold and strict demeanor with her soldiers, as well as her short and closed off manner with her superiors.

With every fiber of her being, Captain Phasma despised her job, even while she was forced to use the best of her talents to do it _well_. It was a cruel and unusual punishment to endure. But she'd asked for it. Signed up for it even.

And suddenly her mind's eye was filled with the flashback of the exact moment she had signed her name on the dotted line.

She'd been nervous, but she hadn't even hesitated. She'd stood up from her chair, snatched the pen, and with utmost seriousness, scrawled her name. A name she had now forfeited for _Phasma_.

What a different person she had been then. Youth and naivety had masqueraded as courage and patriotism. If she'd been a little older, a little wiser, she would not have given up her whole future for _this_. Was it worth it? If she hadn't signed, someone else surely would have, right?

Would she have been forced then to sacrifice so much?

These questions were the ones that liked to creep up and plauge her mind in the middle of the night, when sleep would not be gracious enough to take her.

But then morning would come and she'd don her armor again. Piece by piece she would seal herself back up into the unbreakable creature that she had become. She'd take one last look at herself in the mirror and examine her short blonde hair, her dull, gray-blue eyes, and the mixture of anger and sadness that dwelled within them.

With a stern expression, she could almost convince herself she actually _was_ who she pretended to be; the person she was behind the chrome mask.


End file.
